Here are some photos of an old
windmill we visited in the vicinity
of Federofka. It was raining hard
when we found it and I thought of my
fictional character (I'd finished the
first draft of my novel) - taking shelter
from the storm in her father's windmill.
We climbed around inside the huge pine
structure. The technology was quite
impressive. However, I was more impressed with some initials carved into the wood beside the date - 1923. I felt tingly all over. Could this be my grandfather's windmill?
If you study his signature on the
bottom of his confession papers (see Oct. 27 post) - there is a
distinct similarity. But alas! We had to
conclude this was not my grandfather's windmill.
Piecing together my mom's memories and old Helena's directions, the windmill was a bit too far away and in another direction from where the school once stood.
Then there's also Helena's memory that the Communists tore down my grandfather's windmill within months of the family's deportation. Supposedly, they needed the wood to build the new collective manager's home. I added this fact into a later draft of my book.
I'll never know the truth. Next time I'll share with you what I think are the remains of my grandfather's windmill and I'll tell you how these remains connect to Lenin's tomb in Red Square, Moscow.
Talk to you soon,
(Go Bombers, Go!)
Growing up without grandparents has only increased my need to know who they were. While I've sort of figured out my mom's side of th...